Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

West Memphis

Laura met Dudley and his partner at the door, the dark circles under her eyes evidence of a sleepless night. Something in him cracked.

“Laura.” He caught her hand between his. “I loved my brother. I want to help you through this.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. She glanced up at him, briefly, then turned away, her whisper barely audible. “I know.” Then she turned and led them into the den.

Her navy slacks and crisp yellow blouse looked freshly pressed, but she’d buttoned her blouse up wrong so the neckline sagged on one side. She was usually a stickler for neatness, cleanliness, and punctuality.

Blue throw pillows lay on the floor in front of her beige sofa. The calico cat lying atop one scampered away when they walked in. A darker blue blanket was wadded at one end. The serving bar between the den and the kitchen was littered with a cereal box, two empty boxes of frozen chicken pot pies, and an open bag of potato chips. The sink in the kitchen beyond was piled high with dirty dishes.

Was this departure from routine a sign of grief or guilt?

Dudley couldn’t tell by looking at the careful blank of her face. For a woman who had just called in a break-in, she was remarkably composed. Was she still in shock, or covering up a deed so unthinkable it made him dizzy to even consider it?

He caught the back of a wing chair, then sank into it. Jack gave him an anxious look then stood beside him. A sentinel. Always ready to help his partner, he took over the questioning.

“Mrs. Stephens, can you tell us why you called 911? What happened here?”

She nodded. “I was in the kitchen, trying to… trying to clean up the mess.”

She choked up, and Dudley felt a wrench of guilt. He had failed both her and Charlie.

“Take your time, Laura,” he said. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water?”

“Coffee. In the pot.”

He knew where the mugs were. The first thing he noticed in the kitchen was the gun, lying on the countertop near the stove. It was Charlie’s Colt .45 single action Army Revolver, the design similar to its predecessor, the Colt Peacemaker, the most famous gun used in the wild days of the Old West.

He had no idea Laura knew how to use a gun. What other hidden skills did she have?

As he poured her coffee and added cream and sugar, the way he had seen his brother do, he listened to the drone of voices from the den.

“I was pouring myself a second cup of coffee when I heard the noise at the back door,” she told Jack.

“What kind of noise?”

“I had set some pots and pans in front of the door. Because of what happened…” Laura’s voice broke before she continued. “…yesterday. That’s the door the intruder used… both times.”

“So he ran into the trap you’d set?”

“Yes. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the pots and pans clanging and banging.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Yes. ‘I came to finish the job, Edna Sue.’ His voice was pure evil. Like worms crawling along my skin.”

Whether her emotion was real or acting, it was hard to tell. Jack waited for her to pull herself together.

“Mrs. Stephens, I know this is hard. Especially in light of what happened yesterday. But every detail is important. Does anyone now, or has anyone ever before called you Edna Sue?”

“Well… some of my foster parents used to call me Sue.”

“Is that your name?”

“My middle name. Laura Sue.”

“Do you know anyone named Edna Sue?”

“No.”

“Is it possible you heard the intruder wrong?”

“No. My hearing is acute. I know I’m a wreck, but I’m not that far gone.”

“All right. After he called you Edna Sue, what happened next?”

“He pulled a knife out of his belt and started toward me. I shot him with Charlie’s gun.”

Her bombshell sucked all the air out of the room, but Jack made a fast recovery.

“You shot him from the other side of the bar?”

Dudley knew what Jack was driving at. Laura had to be a really good marksman to shoot through the space between the bar and the cabinets that hung above them and hit her mark.

“Yes.” She twisted her hands together. Was it nerves or fear of getting caught?

“Where did your bullet hit him?”

“His left arm. I’m no murderer .”

Jack ignored the dig. “And then what happened?”

“He ran out the back door, and I dialed 911.”

Dudley returned to the den and handed the coffee to Laura. Once again, he was amazed at her remarkable composure. Except for her enlarged pupils and the way she occasionally gulped, as if she couldn’t get enough air, she didn’t appear to be a woman with a bloody workshop in her garage and a bullet hole in her wall.

While Jack dug out the bullet, Dudley finished the questioning. Laura described the intruder as a male of average height wearing all black clothing and a ski mask over his face. She had heard no car either coming up her driveway or leaving.

Dudley crossed to the back door to study the landscape. Thick woods surrounded the back and the east sides of the house. Easy for anyone to park a block or so away then sneak in through the trees.

“Whoever killed Charlie is trying to kill me.”

He whirled at the sound of Laura’s voice. “Until we knew more, Charlie is missing, not dead.”

She ran at him, beat her fists on his chest. “DON’T LIE TO ME!”

Jack strode over, caught her gently around the waist, and pulled her off. “Mrs. Stephens, we’re going to file this report on your intruder. Under the circumstances, we will put a patrol car in front of your house to make sure no one is trying to harm you.”

“Okay.” She brushed her hair back with her fingers. “But if he comes back, I’ll shoot him.”

Dudley and Jack stepped outside to check the backyard for clues. Last night’s rain had been heavy, and they got lucky. There was the full imprint of a man’s shoe. Large. Approximately a size twelve. He had stepped into a patch of mud, probably when he ran. The bare patch had been left behind when Charlie dug up a diseased hydrangea bush the previous week. He’d told Dudley that Laura wanted all the hydrangeas to come out so she could plant tomatoes and bell peppers.

The impression they made, along with the bullet, would be sent to the lab for analysis. His hopes climbed. They might get a lucky break, and the perp would seek medical attention for his bullet wound. Even if the bullet had only grazed him and there was medical record to track down, the evidence combined with the name Enda Sue were puzzle pieces that would eventually lead him to find out what happened to his brother.